Click
by DiamondNinja914
Summary: A young boy named Soul Evans learns the difference between Shibusen and the public's view of it when he discovers that he is a human weapon. LittleKid!Spartoi, anime and mangaverse. T for mugging, violence. Makoul if you squint.
1. Chapter 1

-FIVE-

I used to hate playing the piano.

I never wanted to sit down in front of those ivory keys. Not when I was five years old.

I knew it was part of the Evans family claim to fame- everyone was successful, everyone was human, and everyone was good with music. I remember watching my older brother practice his violin, already a teenager, already talked about by nosy reporters. I was, too. Talked about by the nosy reporters. But not like Wes. All they ever did was gush about how great a musician he was, and how much they doubted I'd ever be as attractive, intelligent, athletic, musically talented as my brother. It was impossible. Wes Evans was a prodigy.

So one day, at four and a half, I'd been drumming my fingers on the table, remembering in my head a song Wes had played only that morning. One finger up towards my pinky if a note was higher than the last, and one finger towards my thumb if it was lower. At first, my mother almost told me to stop fooling around at the dinner table. But then she noticed exactly what I was doing, and it was decided then that I was to be a pianist like my grandfather.

My mother played the harp, and my father sang opera. My mother was slight, my father was morbidly obese. How stereotypical. Fortunately for my brother and I, we'd inherited Mother's body type.

I hated piano practice, in the beginning. I was one of those children who liked to sit by themselves, coloring or playing with the family dog. Lessons were at first only an hour per day, but once the prodigy in me was discovered, all else took a back seat. I learned incredibly quickly, and soon I was putting on performances for my own family members. Then I'd get feedback. No applause, just critique. Sit up. Shoulders level. Follow the speed dictated by the sheet music. Try to smile, Soul. Sit up.

After awhile, I didn't want to play for them anymore. They never seemed to enjoy my music. I hated it the most when Wes would be asked to demonstrate a particularly difficult portion of the music, and then my family would clap politely. And when I would try to tell Mother and Father that I'd changed the music on purpose, I would get a lecture on not being jealous of my brother's skill. Work harder.

Work harder.

I didn't have to play, though, at the parties, which were often. I was usually dressed nicely and told to stand by the door and smile at everyone who came. I was an ornament. Famous people hugged me and took pictures with me, and I smiled with no actual enjoyment. After the first time this happened, Mother told me to smile with my lips together so that people couldn't see my abnormal teeth. I had no idea why. I was five.

One of these parties went late into the night, and I was sent up to bed. Angry as I was, I decided to watch television instead. It was eight o'clock, so cartoons were on. I fell asleep in my suit. When I woke up the next morning, the television was still playing. It was the news. A bright-eyed brunette smiled at the camera.

_"Here's a little side note- today is Maka Albarn's fifth birthday, and she will now be eligible for __the DWMA. Little Maka is the daughter of the current North American Head Deathscythe, and we've been informed that she wants to follow in her mother's footsteps as a meister. I think we were all a little surprised, and maybe disappointed, that she wasn't a weapon like her father, but according to our sources she's excited to be attending the legendary Academy."_

I was completely confused. Why on Earth would anyone want to go to school? I had a tutor that came to the mansion, and I hated those sessions every day. They were miserable and my knuckles were permanently sore from being rapped by the ruler.

_"It's such a shame to see these kids reeled in by the system- raised to want to serve. Our janitor here was a Shibusen weapon, and he came back immediately after being certified as safe for society."_

I understood this part- according to Mother, no one with the last name Evans had ever been a weapon or a meister, and this was a good thing. I couldn't remember why. Something about the word "pureblood". I didn't see anything wrong with weapons. In fact, I thought they were cool. I liked watching stuff get blown up on TV, and I liked watching people fight. My favorites were the meisters who didn't have a weapon, or whose weapon had died, or they quit the DWMA, that fought each other one-on-one every Wednesday night on channel... whatever it was. I couldn't count that high.

The next picture on the screen was of a little girl in a pink dress with wide green eyes and blonde hair in pigtails, clinging to a man in his twenties in casual dress with his red hair tied back into a ponytail. I could tell by the way the news lady was talking that this was still the girl from before. She looked a little afraid of the camera man, and her dad looked angry.

_"Actually, she's already been training to be a scythemeister, isn't that right, Mark?"_

The male news anchor smiled at the lady.

_"Yeah. Twirling batons and stuff. Her parents must be really hard core." _

He had no idea what hard core was.

-SIX-

I didn't need the tutor anymore. Not for piano, anyway. I still learned to read and write and count from the old lady with the pointy nose, but I got to practice my music by myself.

It was nice.

I played what I felt like- no more of this music sheet crap.

I'd learned the word "crap" from Wes.

Every time Mother and Father told me to play for them, I refused. I found excuses, I threw up, sometimes I even flat-out told them no. I was tired of being told to follow the original composer. So what? Johann Sebastian Bach is DEAD, Mother. He doesn't give a crap if I play the song how I want to!

Wes got in big trouble when she heard me use the word "crap".

It was awesome.

One day, I was sitting in front of my piano, in the dark room where it was kept, that had checkered tiles and black curtains and a gramophone in the back corner. Until that one day, I thought the dark room was a haven. Me, myself, and I.

I put my fingers on the ivory keys, and played what I felt. I had no idea what notes were coming next, but I hit them when they were meant to be hit. I closed my eyes and smiled, letting my teeth show like Mother had told me never to do. I even laughed.

I was at the climax when I knew something was wrong. I finished the piece and closed the lid, wary. Then her voice came from behind me. Mother.

"Where did you get that music?"

"Me," I said.

"Don't you dare lie to me, Soul Evans. Tell me where you got the music!"

"I wrote it, Mother!"

"Oh, don't be foolish," she replied, her voice lowering. "You know I can see through every little fib of yours."

"Look!" I exclaimed, turning towards her. "I have no music in front of me! I MADE IT UP!"

"Soul, you couldn't compose that if you tried. _Wes_, maybe, but not you."

"Then tell me who did! You know, like, every song ever, Mother! Wouldn't you be able to tell what it was?"

She looked at me, mouth open like a fish. She slowly walked closer and knelt down, taking my hand. I hated it when she did that. I hated it when people touched me.

"You're going to tell me right now. Did you write that music?"

Something in her eyes made me think she was proud. I was wrong. But I thought, what if she finally thinks I did something right?

"Did you like it?" I asked.

She blinked at me and started crying slightly. She pulled me into her lap and embraced me, briefly, and then left the room.

I got another tutor. I was taught to play Bach.

There was another party two weeks later. But this one was a charity benefit in a small, run-down town. I don't know why we were invited, and I didn't care. I knew the food was good, and that was all I was really interested in. Wes played the violin while the adults ate dinner and chatted. I sipped water, disappointed that it was all Mother would let me have. So when Father left to use the restroom, I looked around to make sure no one was watching, then tasted some of what he was drinking. I thought it was grape juice. That's what it looked like.

It wasn't grape juice.

I spit the vile liquid out of my mouth immediately, coughing and spewing it all over the white tablecloth. And, I was wrong about the other thing. Someone _was _watching me. Mother, to be specific.

She marched me to the back corner of the hall and mopped my face fiercely with a napkin.

"Stay here. Do not go anywhere. You are to sit in this seat and look like a good little boy, all right?" She demanded.

"Mother, I-"

"Soul!"

I sighed. "Yes, Mother."

"Good." She looked at me with irritation. "And I told you to stop wearing that idiotic headband," she snapped. I reluctantly pulled the black band out of my hair. She marched off to go talk to the group of ladies by the bar. She looked over every little while to see if I was still where she'd left me.

It got old really, really fast.

I waited for her to look once more, then began walking towards her.

"What is it, Soul?" Mother asked.

I motioned for her to listen. She raised an eyebrow and bent down to my level, careful to keep her dress smooth.

"I have to potty. And Wes said he would take me. He knows where it is."

"Fine." Mother stood up again and went back to her conversation. I did a tiny fist pump.

I walked out into the hall and then out the front doors. As soon as I was clear of the building, I slipped my black hairband back on. Ha! I allowed myself a small smirk before making my way down the street. It was then that I realized just how run down this little town was. The first few blocks I walked were relatively nice, but they soon faded to one-story houses with overgrown yards. I looked around, suddenly confused as to where exactly I was. Fortunately, there were two kids my age playing across the street.

"I think we should kill it," said the older boy. He way about nine or ten, and he was tall and lanky. The clothes he wore were supposed to make him look tough, I guess. It worked. Instead of a belt, he had a metal band with rivets around his waist. He had the same odd substance tied around his ankles and wrists. He even had one as a makeshift choker around his neck. His ears were pierced.

"No! It's just a lizard. We can't kill it," said the smaller child. This one was about my age, with hair a faded reddish brown, almost pink. The older brother had the same feature, but his hair was a darker, a deep burgundy, a little more orange, and his eyes were a deeper blue.

"Crona, that's my point. It's just a lizard. No one cares if we kill it." Crona whimpered at this, looking up at the other.

"Ragnarok, I- I don't- I don't- I don't think it's a good idea." Crona finally sputtered out.

"C'mon, if you're gonna be my meister, you'll have to be tougher than this," the one called Ragnarok snarled at his younger sibling.

I let out an involuntary gasp. If Crona was the meister, then Ragnarok must be a...

Human weapon.

The two seemed to hear my reaction, and as one their heads snapped in my direction.

"What do you want?" Ragnarok called across the road, angrily. He stepped in front of Crona, protectively. The worst part about it was, I was right about him being a weapon. Long silver spikes erupted from his arms, and he stood in a fighting stance.

"Stop," said Crona, touching Ragnarok's shoulder. "I don't think he means us any harm. Look at him." There was a pause. "If you attack somebody for no reason... ooh, I don't think I can deal with that."

The older brother turned and said something quietly to Crona, who just nodded fearfully, and took Ragnarok's hand. Suddenly, in his place was a silver greatsword with the same rivets tied around the hilt. Crona began to tear up, but spoke out in a squeaky voice.

"Please go away."

I was frozen in fear. All my life, my mother had told me just how dangerous weapons could be. I saw that Crona's eyes had lightened to a silvery color, and had begun to glow. "Look, Rags. He's human. We don't have to do this. Please. Please?"

"PUT THE SWORD DOWN!"

Crona practically collapsed from fear at something behind me. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Now back away from my son."

Ragnarok returned to human form, and stood beside his younger sibling. I looked up. Mother was standing over me, fury in her eyes. The elder brother seemed poised to retort, when a woman opened the door to the house they were standing in front of.

"Dinner time!" She called. She was a little on the short side, with blonde hair cropped short, except for two long tendrils that ran down to her navel. She wore a black hoodie vest and black pants, and she had snakes tattoed up her arms. She surveyed the situation, looking from me to Mother to her two children, over and over and over again.

"Crona!" She finally said. "What did I tell you about scaring people?"

"I didn't—"

"Oh, don't give me that. You think Ragnarok wields himself? Come on. Come inside. Both of you." She ushered the duo inside and sent an apologetic glance in Mother's direction. She walked back into the house, shaking her head.

"Soul Evans," Mother began. I was in trouble now. "You are grounded."

Oh, snap.

"I hope this experience has taught you something. What have you learned?"

"Uh... don't wander off?" I guessed, and she nodded curtly.

"And most of all," she continued. "Stay away from human weapons."

I looked down. Mother sighed. "Crona and Ragnarok. They can't even give their children halfway normal names."

We started walking back. I was surprised the lecture had been so short, but I sensed Mother wanted to get away from the odd family. I looked back at the house we'd just left.

The woman with the snake tattoos was looking out the window. Straight at me.

I think... I think she heard what Mother said.

I locked eyes with the woman. I felt a wrenching in the pit of my stomach. She kept my gaze and lifted one hand, making odd symbols in the air and whispering. My stomach clenched even more. I began to feel shaky and nauseous.

I looked away.

When I looked back, the woman was gone.

"Ragnarok," I heard her call. "Could you come help me with something? I want to try a little... experiment."

SEVEN

I had mastered just about every piece of music that was floating around the house. I could play them with my eyes closed. Most of the time, I did. After I'd scared Mother with my improvised music a year before, I'd never been allowed to play alone. Maybe she thought I wouldn't have the dark music inside of me if I didn't play it. Either way, I resorted to playing it out with my fingers on the kitchen table.

Just after my brother turned seventeen, he had his first concert. Not just playing before a bigger act, but a Wes Evans solo performance. Seats were expensive. Suits were expensive. The wine they served was even more expensive. Yes, I now knew the difference between wine and grape juice. And even though I knew there was a difference, I hadn't drank any more of either.

My family sat in the front row of the old-style theatre. There were maybe four hundred seats in the house. Very exclusive. The chatter stopped the moment Wes stepped up to the stage. His hair was long now, but he kept it loose. Somehow he made long hair look put together. I was confused, because Mother always told me to keep my hair relatively short so it didn't look sloppy.

Wes cleared his throat slightly and sat his violin on his shoulder. He brought the bow up to the strings and pulled, producing a sweet sound that rang through the auditorium without the aid of a microphone. It was beautiful. I can always give him that much. No matter how mad I was at him, no matter where he played, his music always took my breath away.

He played for half and hour. That was all. Then, the host of the theatre stepped out and shook my brother's hand. They smiled at each other, and the audience applauded. Not whoops and shrieks like you hear at a rock concert, but the poised, polite clapping of the upper class.

I just sat with my hands folded.

"How about that, huh?" The host asked the audience after the applause had died down. There was a few more seconds of quiet praise. "Another great musician from the Evans family."

Mother looked down at me.

"Speaking of which," he continued. "Wes's little brother is here with us today. Isn't that right, Soul?" He looked straight at me, and so did the rest of the audience. "I wonder if we could persuade the youngest Evans to give us a little show."

No.

No.

No no no no no no no no no.

The host smiled at me.

Mother leaned down and whispered in my ear. "We thought you might like to play in front of people who aren't your family." She smiled at me too. "How about Beethoven? The rendition you've been practicing?"

"Do I have to?" I asked.

Immediately Mother's expression lost its warmth. "I would greatly appreciate it if you did."

That wasn't a request.

I looked up at the stage and shakily made my way up the steps. I smiled at everyone, remembering at the last moment to keep my teeth hidden behind my lips.

I sat down at the piano, and put my fingers on the ivory keys. I began the song, and tried to forget my audience. It didn't really work. I made it through without mistake, though, and that was good. I was just afraid, not to mention the fact that I really, really had to pee.

I stood during the applause, smiling that same emotionless smile. I hoped they couldn't tell that I hated every last one of them.

"Wow! Wasn't that amazing!" The host cried. "Only seven years old, and already as good as his brother."

Was this guy tone deaf?

Of course I wasn't as good as Wes. I heard it in every note. He poured his heart into his music, and I might as well have been a robot with as much emotion as I put into that piece.

So why did no one see it?

Never mind. I could see that someone did.

Mother.

Her expression was that of pride- but she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at Wes. Thinking, no doubt, about what a good job she did when she raised him. She wasn't even paying attention to her other son.

When the audience started to leave, I made my way back to my parents. They didn't know I was there.

"That went well," said Father.

"I agree. Soul's performance at the end is going to make them feel too guilty to criticize any hiccups. No one will say anything bad about a seven-year-old," Mother replied.

What?

All of this was for Wes?

I should have known.

We got back into the limo and started home. Mother and Father congratulated me on my first public appearance.

That was the first time I "helped" my brother.

EIGHT

I did twelve more shows before it happened. Each time, I played after Wes, and each time, it was made to look like they hadn't come up with it beforehand. I taught myself not to notice.

I think it really did help. Everyone loved seeing a kid play the piano.

One day, I asked Father if I could play something I made up. The show was the next day. He almost said yes, I could see it in his eyes. But Mother stepped in at the last moment.

"No."

That was it.

"Soul, this is your brother's performance. He's getting paid for this."

"Yeah!" I cried. "He gets paid, and I play for free! Can't I play something... ooh, I dunno, original? Or maybe something other than the three songs I play EVERY SINGLE TIME?!"

"Listen!" Mother warned, stepping closer to make our considerable difference in height even more obvious. "I've heard your music. It's dark, and it sounds like... like pain. Do we want our audience to feel pain? No. We want them to leave feeling happy."

"Narcissa..." Father said gently, putting one hand on Mother's shoulder.

"Hmm." She visibly relaxed. Her brow furrowed, trying to find a solution. "All right. You want to play something else? How about you and Wes play a duet tomorrow? _Melody of the Soul. _That's a good one."

Ooh, yay. Another song I've played too many times to count.

I walked away.

The next day, I was told one more time to take off the headband.

"Mother, I like it. It keeps my hair out of my eyes. And it looks cool." I was at the point where I really was just trying to avoid an argument. So I tried to talk to her about my feelings.

Ha.

"Cool? COOL, Soul? Let me tell you something about 'cool.' 'Cool' guys walk around wearing leather jackets and riding motorcycles. 'Cool' guys are, in reality, nothing you want to be. Aim for sophisticated. And sophisticated that hair tie is not." She took it off my head and put it in the garbage.

That was the last straw.

I kept my cool(See, Mother? Cool!) until it was my turn to go up on stage. I sat at the piano, and Wes sat across the stage. We looked at each other.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

The duet began. We passed the melody back and forth. One day, I would use this technique in a completely music-unrelated way, and it would save my life. My life and many others. But at this point, all that mattered was me.

First came the longer violin solo. Wes played alone for sixteen measures. I counted them out even though I knew the song by heart.

After that, we did the back and forth thing three more times, and it was my turn to play alone.

I began the solo as it was written. Three measures in, I morphed it, so that the upper and lower harmony got farther and farther apart. Wes raised an eyebrow at me, but I ignored him.

I changed the song completely. No longer could it be recognized as _Melody of the Soul._

I decided to call it _The Melody of Soul._

Maybe I'm a little selfish. Sometimes.

After playing for about a minute, I was at the song I'd played for Mother. I didn't look down to see how she reacted. I knew she was furious. Her fury fueled my music. Soon, there was a change. I heard it and felt it, and it almost startled me out of the song.

Wes was playing with me.

He'd sensed the pattern in the melody, and played behind me. At points, he played what I just had, making it sound like a round. I grinned at him. He didn't see me. His eyes were closed.

I took us through the bridge, and I let him finish the song.

We stood together in the center of the stage and bowed. I, just eight years old and four foot three, and my brother, ten years older and almost two feet taller than me.

I began to walk off, but Wes grabbed my arm and shook his head. He waited until our family were the only ones left in the house to let me go.

He was smart.

The moments that came after were like an explosion. Mother screamed at me with tears in her eyes, and I screamed back. When we got into the limo, the argument went on. Just her and I.

"Do you realize what you've done? This was for Wes! And did you see the audience? They loved seeing you two play together! So when he wants to play alone one day, all they'll say is 'No! Why isn't Soul there to play with him?'" Mother cried.

"Just yesterday you said they would hate it! You were wrong this time, why can't you be wrong again?" I yelled back.

"YOU IDIOT!" She screeched. "They thought that was part of the song! Any pain they felt they just assumed was bad song choice! You, on the other hand, had to go play them something... tortured!"

"Mother, stop."

Wes.

Surprisingly, she shut her mouth. Wes was just that way. He could make anyone do just about anything.

"You're treating him like a houseplant. How ironic that you named him Soul when you act like he doesn't even have one. You of all people, Narcissa Evans, should know that music comes from the deepest core of our hearts. And if your son is playing tortured music, then you're the idiot if you think it has nothing to do with you."

We stared at him in shock for a few moments.

"Wes, he's played that song before. He wrote it when he was six. And he played it today because he knows I hate it."

"He wrote it when he was six? Listen to yourself! He composed a respectable piece of music before he could read! That's called prodigy, Mother. Congratulations for suffocating it."

Mother looked at me.

I looked at Mother.

Right then, we arrived home. We all got out of the car. Father whispered in my ear that now would be an excellent time to go up to bed.

Mother kissed me on the forehead before I left to go get clean, and Wes gave me a pat on the shoulder.

But as soon as I'd turned off the shower water, I heard that the argument was still on downstairs. Still between Mother and Wes. I got into my pajamas, and crawled into bed. I heard my brother stomp down the hallway and slam the door to his room behind him.

The fight didn't stop there. Mother and Father screamed at each other for what felt like forever about whose fault it was exactly that I'd turned out so screwed up. They finally stopped, resolving to talk to me about it in the morning.

They didn't get to.

I fell asleep way late. I dreamed of the little black-curtained room I used to play in. A short, red-skinned ogre-like demon sat on my piano and urged me to play. So I sat down and began the sheet music I'd never seen that was sitting on the stand, but every note felt like I was being stabbed. Eventually, I just couldn't take it any more and I had to stop. The little demon told me to keep playing though, and I managed a few more measures before I had to rest again.

"Play, Soul! Do it, come on."

But when I refused, the little demon became a huge monster that walked towards me and tried to engulf me in its shadowy presence. As the massive form began to suffocate me, I slammed my fists into its stomach, feeling like maybe if I could push my hands hard enough in I could do some damage. I began to scream.

I was still screaming when I woke up. I stopped when I saw I was in my room. I looked down at my hands to prove to myself that they hadn't been swallowed by the fat in the demon's stomach.

But what I saw made me start screaming all over again.

I cried the one name I could think of.

"WES! WES! HELP ME!" I sobbed. I knew he was in the room right next to mine, why wasn't he coming?

Suddenly the door opened, and Wes sat on the foot of my bed, clad only in his undershorts.

"Hey, kid. Did you have a nightmare?"

I nodded.

"It's ok. It's ok. It's over now."

"No!"

"Shh. Yeah it is. You're fine," he soothed.

"No! I'm not fine!" I held up what used to be my hands.

I learned some more cuss words that night.

"MOTHER! MOTHER COME HERE NOW!"

Wes turned on the light so he could better see the red and black blades that had replaced everything on my left arm from the elbow down, and the fingers on my right hand.

Mother finally came, her eyes nearly closed and her figure wrapped in a bathrobe.

"Mother?" Wes began shakily. "Soul's a human weapon."

She held me in her arms for the four hours it took to get my arms back to normal.

The next morning, I woke up at ten. It was a Saturday.

"Mornin' Wes."

"Hey." He was looking at me with a concerned expression.

"I had a weird dream. I was a weapon."

"Soul..." I could see in his eyes that I hadn't imagined it, and I started crying all over again.

It would be the last time I ever felt tears run down my face.

Mother did research that morning. I would have to attend the DWMA for as long as it took to be declared able to control my abilities, starting sometime within the next year. The next first day of school was September 1. Three months.

-NINE-

I had just turned nine when I had my second encounter with human weapons before my attendance to Shibusen.

I applauded my family for being so accepting. They'd always prided themselves on being one hundred percent human, and now the waters had been tainted. Someone had peed in their gene pool, and they acted like nothing had happened.

But there was an air of awkwardity that followed them every time they spoke to me. It relaxed, but increased exponentially after we left the opera.

It was rather like Batman.

I hadn't been to an opera before, as I'd usually stayed home with Wes or one of the maids. This was my first time.

It was boring.

Really, fat ladies singing? It should be over.

I'd seen Father perform, but never like this. I had no idea what was going on. I got the hang of it, eventually. I enjoyed the fight scenes the most. I wondered if this was because they were done well or if it was because I was a weapon.

After it was over, everyone crowded the exit to the main hall.

"Father," I said, tugging on his shirt. "There's a separate exit that way." I pointed to the red "EXIT" sign in the far corner. We left through there and found that it led outside the building and into an alleyway.

I got a bad feeling, and clung to Wes.

"It'll be fine," Father said, patting my head. "It was a good idea to take the shortcut out. The limo's just this way."

The feeling didn't go away.

"Someone's coming," I said. "Two someones."

I was right. Two girls popped out of the shadows. One my age, the other about two or three years older. They had blonde hair and blue eyes, and they smiled at us sadistically. The older one was smoking what looked like a cigarette, but didn't smell right.

"C'mon," said the older. "Wallets, phones, you know the drill."

We were all frozen for a few moments.

"Now!" The older shouted. When we were still in shock, she turned to her sister and said "Patty, catch!" and promptly glowed pink before transforming into a standard pistol.

The one called Patty caught the gun and spun it in her hands for a few seconds, then steadied it and aimed at Father.

"Stop!" I cried, stepping between them. I held up an arm and snapped my fingers.

My pinky, middle finger, and index fingernail transformed.

Crap.

I shook my arm out. I snapped my fingers. I made punching motions. By the time I had shifted to weapon form up to my elbow, the older sister was looking at me through the sights of an identical pistol while nearly dying of laughter.

"Wow. Patty, are you seeing this? The kid thinks he's some sort of vigilante, or what."

"Ha-ha," came the reply without a face. "Sis, just take their stuff."

"Yeah, yeah. 'Kay, guys. Money, jewelry. Chop, chop." They switched again, so Patty was wielding. Somehow it was a little scarier to see a little girl aiming a gun at you than a teenager.

My parents dug around in their pockets and dumped their contents on the ground while I concentrated on trying to get my hands back.

"Yeah, kiddo. You should work on that." The older sister was suddenly standing over me, lazily gripping the Eagle in one hand, halfway aiming at Father.

"How'd you learn? Did you go to Shibusen?" I asked. Maybe now wasn't the best time, but it was certainly the best opportunity I had.

"Shit no. Do I, Liz Thompson, Brooklyn Devil Number One, look like a Shibusen student? Ha! You must be crazy, little dude." She motioned to her skimpy clothes, her cigarette that definitely wasn't a cigarette, and tiny marks on the inside of her elbow.

How was I supposed to know what a Shibusen student looks like? I was going in two weeks, I hadn't been there yet.

Liz picked up the fallen items from my family and put them on the inside of her dingy faux fur jacket.

We looked at her.

"Whatcha lookin' at? C'mon, skedaddle!"

We hightailed it out of there. I hoped I would never see Liz and Patty Thompson again.

Two weeks after the incident in New York, we flew into Nevada International Airport. We drove across the Nevada desert in complete silence. We were worried we'd never make it when an oddly shaped... hill, I guess, grew in the distance.

There were no signs, but we knew we were at the right place as soon as we pulled in. Skull-themed nicknacks were sold in shop windows, and most walked in pairs, wearing matching outfits. The atmosphere was generally quite friendly, even though some walked alone with giant crossbows, swords, and battleaxes tucked under their arms.

Once we reached the center of the city, however, we had to turn around. The only way to the Academy was a giant staircase that started about half a block past city limits.

What?

Sure enough, a brochure left in a sign at the base of the path explained that pupils of the Death Weapon Meister Academy, aka Shibusen, were expected to be extremely fit, and taking the 2.5 mile staircase every morning was just part of their training.

"What the hell," Father said. "If a bunch of kids can do it, I certainly can!" He then proceeded to haul his two-hundred-and-sixty-pound-self up the massive stairway. The rest of us followed suit, somewhat reluctantly.

It was summer in the Nevada desert, and a family of musicians was walking two and a half miles up a staircase to a school for shape shifters and witch hunters, some of whom were both.

It didn't take too long for Father to pull his shirt off. I averted my eyes. Blood or not, the man was FAT.

While we were walking, I transformed my arm, up and down and back up again. I was still a little slow, but I at least I could do it. I'd heard that some couldn't even control it for weeks, months, or years after they found out, usually from the family physician.

We were a little past halfway when two kids my age ran past us up the stairs.

"I'm gonna beat you!" Screamed the girl. All I could see was a uniform black hoodie dress with black tights, and a set of ash-blonde pigtails.

"No, you're not! No one's faster than me!" The boy replied, the wind nearly taking away his words. He was wearing white shorts and, like my father, had his shirt balled up in one hand. His hair was the approximate color of the sky.

The two were gone almost as soon as they'd appeared. I noticed they ran silently, their feet making contact with the pavement without making any noise.

"Whoa, they're tough." Father said. "When you pick a meister, try to get one of them."

"It's not like that," Wes explained. "Each person's only compatible with certain other people. Or something."

I was glad one of us was paying attention during that presentation they sent us.

We made it.

We finally made it.

The sun was still laughing, but it seemed to be laughing at us particularly that day, sweaty and disgusting and tired. Not to mention that my family would be returning sometime in the next hour or so.

"Name?" Asked the woman at the top of the stairs. Ok, maybe "woman" isn't the right term. She looked to be about nineteen. She was short, black, and had her hair tied in cornrows that met in a ponytail at the back of her head. She was wearing camouflage cargo pants and a somewhat fitted black shirt.

"Soul Evans," I muttered.

"You're gonna have to speak up."

"Soul Evans," I said, louder this time.

"Mmm..." She scanned the list for my name.

Over her shoulder, I saw the boy and the girl that had been running ahead of us earlier. The girl had one knee on the ground and the other on the boy's chest, punching him repeatedly in the face. Suddenly, the boy grabbed her by the knee and flipped up onto his feet, so that she was dangling upside down. Somehow she flipped up, backwards, so that she landed sitting on his shoulders. She hooked her legs under his armpits and reached up, grabbing a tree branch over their heads and swinging the both of them in tandem.

"YOU! CHEATING! BASTARD!" She screamed. "YOU TRIPPED ME!" Just then, the branch she was holding broke and they came crashing to the ground. She held the branch horizontally in front of her, crouching while the boy took a running leap straight at her. She was about to swing the stick when the woman in front of us called out to her.

"Meister Maka!" The girl looked up. "It would be greatly appreciated if you didn't kill my son on the first official day of school."

Son? This girl couldn't be over twenty, and the boy she called her son looked the same age as me. Not to mention the fact that she was dark-skinned, and the boy was pale and clearly Asian.

The girl called Maka grumbled something to herself and dropped the stick, making a rude face at the boy. The woman's comment seemed to do little, though, because her supposed "son" seemed to take this expression to offense, and the fight started up again.

"Aah, a new recruit," came the voice of another woman in her older twenties. She was the spitting image of Maka, down to the pigtails and fringey bangs. Behind her was a man with blue eyes and dark red hair, talking into... a hand mirror.

"That sounds like a plan. Yeah. Yep. Glad it worked out. Ok, bye. Yep. Bye, Marie. Bye," the man said into his mirror. He then snapped it shut and looked up.

"What was it this time," the Maka carbon copy sighed.

"Her coffee maker," replied the man.

"Hmph. Go figure. She changes her affections so often it's no wonder you two are so close." The man's eyes widened, and was about to reply when the woman turned to us. "Hi. I'm Kami Albarn, and this is my husband, Spirit." She gestured to the man behind her, who smiled and waved, all apparent insult suddenly forgotten. "I believe you've already met my daughter."

Yep. The boy with the blue hair was now standing with one foot on a seemingly unconscious Maka's chest while waving a fist in the air. Suddenly, the girl in question swept his feet from under him and the whole process started again.

"And that's my adopted son, Blackstar," said the younger woman. "I'm Nygus, by the way."

Aah, adopted. I still didn't get why she had adopted a kid at suck a young age, but whatever.

Mother made a face at the ever more odd names being thrown around. "Narcissa Evans," she said, extending her hand to each of the adults in turn. "This is my older son, Wes, and my hunband, Dominic. My youngest, Soul, will be staying here when we leave." She waved a jeweled hand to each of us as our names came up.

"Sounds like a plan," said the man named Spirit, smiling. "And what are you?" He asked me.

"A scythe," I told him, extending a half-arm.

Spirit and Kami blinked at me for a moment.

"Don't tell her. Please," Spirit whispered to his wife.

"I don't know if we can avoid it. You of all people know how rare scythes are," Kami muttered back.

"The longer we wait, the more likely a better choice will show up," he replied.

They then turned and looked at me again, Spirit concerned and Kami smiling.

"Well, you're the first scythe we have," said the man. "In this class, anyways." He took Kami's hand and promptly shifted to a giant, black-bladed demonscythe. It was pretty cool.

I had no idea that in a matter of days, this guy and I would become lifelong rivals.

Mother and Father took an involuntary step back.

"You know, most parents don't come to drop their kids off," Nygus told Mother. "Your visit wasn't necessary."

"We know, we just wanted to make sure that Soul gets settled in. We didn't want to force him to come now if he wants to start next semester."

Right.

She just wanted to see how freaky the people her son would be spending the next several years with were.

Behind the three adults, the boy named Blackstar was attempting to... electrocute his pigtailed frenemy. This was met with Maka beating him over the head with what looked like an encyclopedia.

Maybe Mother was right. They were all pretty freaky.

"Is everyone here?" Called the man at the front of the classroom. He was tall, black, had his hair in dreadlocks, and was wearing a basketball uniform. By the way I'd seen him talking to Nygus earlier, I'd have to say she was his weapon. Or the other way around.

"How are we supposed to know?" Called back a girl with bright green eyes and brighter, long pink hair. Her tag read "MEISTER".

"Paying attention to your surroundings is one of the most important skills to have, Meister Kimial," the man said levelly. "Sixteen students admitted per class per semester, you know. It would have been easy to count." He turned to the rest of the class. "All right, everyone. My name is Sid Barrett, most of you have already met my weapon, Mira Nygus." He gestured to the young woman in question.

"I want to make something clear to you all. This is the N.O.T. Class, or Normally Overcome Target. You will not be hunting for evil creatures, if you would like to you must join the combat class, E.A.T. Class, which stands for Extraordinarily Advanced Talent. That is because it required extraordinarily advanced talent to qualify, and only fifteen percent of students are even recommended. This is where all of you must start out, as none of you will even be allowed to go back to your homes until you have proven that you have the ability to control the weapons inside of you."

A few of the students looked scared, but a few looked bored. It was easy to tell whose parents were members of the DWMA and whose weren't.

"Your first priority is finding a partner. Weapons with meisters only, as meisters lack the ability to transform and are therefore useless if paired with another meister. A few can train to fight without a weapon-" Blackstar looked up at this- "But for now everyone must find someone of the opposite species to pair up with.

"This is no small matter. Your partner will be your best friend, your roommate, your everything. You will be expected to know the whereabouts of your partner, and in time this will become easier as you will be able to know their location instinctively. Partner choice is especially important for weapons- you will be expected to protect your meister at all costs." He looked at each of us weapons in turn.

"Even if the cost is your own life."

There was distressed murmuring at this. We'd all known that living weapons held a lower place in society than any other civilized species, but not everyone seemed to know the exact weight that particular position held.

"Meisters, in turn, your weapon is your responsibility. Any harm done unto it will reflect badly on you as it belongs to you. This is not my choice, this it the way it works. Weapons do not wield themselves, that is what you are for.

"However, this does not mean that some of you will be left powerless while others laugh at their blundering partners. In fact, quite the opposite is the case. It is rather impossible to end up with a partner that you are incapable of getting along with; in fact, each meister or weapon is only compatible with a few other people on Earth. Like all rules in our world, there are a few exceptions, but the point is that you really can only end up with the right person." Sid sighed and sat down in a rolling chair, then got back up again. He decided to sit on his desk instead.

"How are we supposed to know who our partner is?" Came the voice of a tall Chinese girl with her hair in a bun.

Sid sighed again and reached for his teacup before looking out the window for a moment. He turned back to the young weapon again and spoke directly. "I guess you just know. A lot of people call it the 'click'. When you come into contact with someone you know you can match wavelengths with. Yeah, I think 'click' is the right word. That's just the kind of feeling it is."

So that was orientation. Only one partnership was formed that day, an obnoxious, painfully thin lad with giant glasses and two pillars of hair above each ear, and an expressionless French boy who pulled his hair back into a ponytail. He wore a visor much like Mr. LaForge from Star Trek. As they left together, the loud one, presumably the meister, skipped alongside his partner, jabbering on and on about how he would now be known as the "Lightning King".

I was glad I didn't "click" with that guy.

That night, I dragged my few belongings into the room I shared with two other boys. I didn't know who they were, but I was a bit nervous as to who I would end up spending the rest of my stay at Shibusen with, at least until I'd found a meister. I had spoken to some of the other students, but no such "click" had occurred. I'd had the... pleasure of speaking with Mr. Lighting King, and hadn't even gotten his name because I was so not interested in how he had once won the science fair in first grade, luring flies into a jar by beating one end with elastic from his Grandmother's sweatpants. Kilik Rung was nice enough, but he said he was looking for elemental weapons only. I understood. For someone fully intending on making E.A.T. Class, weapon type selection was vital.

Meister Kimial Deihl, or "Kim" for short, had charged me twenty bucks just to talk to her.

At this rate, I'd never have a partner.

There was a ball the next night meant for meeting partners, and I intended to go. If there was anything I knew how to do, it was stand around at a social gathering. No matter how much I hated them, the ball would at least be something familiar.

As if to demonstrate the lack of suitable meisters my class had to offer, I had stopped in the courtyard on the way to the dormitory to observe the boy named Blackstar, who was standing on one of the decorative spokes that jutted from the school while yelling to a group of watchers about what a big star he was. It got annoying rather quickly, and I left. Several of the others did the same.

So I'd arrived at the room with my bags and set up in the back corner, hoping my roommates would be at least tolerable. Just then, I noticed a sign on the door. I hadn't needed to look at the list when I'd entered as I already knew my room number, but this sheet of paper held the names of the occupants.

Room 564:

Soul Evans

Kilik Rung

Blackstar Barrett

Nnnnnoooooooooooo...

As I said, Kilik was a cool guy, but I had come to realize that the boy with the blue hair was the most irritating creature I had ever come into contact with. I was surprised Sid and Nygus could tolerate the boy, let alone raise him.

Kilik arrived about ten minutes later. He was about a year younger than I, and my height. He was mixed, and had half of his head cornrowed, but you couldn't really tell because his hair was covered by a sideways baseball cap with DC and a skull on it. His green t-shirt sported the same logo, as did his shoes. We sat and talked for a little while, but soon I left to go get cleaned up before bed. I hadn't eaten dinner, but I was told we had to buy food at the cafeteria, and I had no money.

Luckily, Blackstar came with food. Sandwiches. The little ones with the toothpicks in them. We ate the whole plate, as Nygus, the sender, had assumed we would eat a lot and got the 5-7 party size. Smart woman.

"So, what kind of weapon are you?" The blue-haired boy asked me with his mouth full.

"Bladed," I said, remembering Spirit and Kami Albarn's odd reaction to my weapon type. I wasn't sure how anyone else would react.

"Oh. Yeah, those are pretty useful." No way. Two thirds of all weapons were bladed. His own adopted mother was a knife. Seriously. "Once I got in a fight with a bladed autonomous weapon. I won, of course. I ALWAYS win."

"Mmm hmm," I said, keeping myself from dozing off while shoving another sandwich in my face.

I hoped this guy wouldn't ask me to be his weapon. I'd had no such "click" occur. Fortunately, Blackstar had already found his click this afternoon, in an eleven-year-old Japanese girl whose name was too long for me to remember. I didn't really care; whoever his partner was, if she was anywhere close to how annoying her meister could be, I hoped to never, ever meet her.

"Ya know," he said after I mentioned that I was still without a partner, "Don't always go by the click. That just means you're compatible, that they can even wield you. Maka's dad, he used to have a meister that could wield any weapon at all. He found out after being his partner for four years that the guy was doing science experiments on him in his sleep. FOUR YEARS. Ha! What a moron."

"Really? Why didn't he notice?" I asked, concerned.

"I dunno. Creep drugged him, I guess."

"Hey," I said, something just occurring to me. "If her dad's a scythe, why isn't she?"

"I dunno," Blackstar replied. "When we were four, we were gonna be partners, but she didn't have her powers yet. Then this super tall dude in a lab coat came one day, and he had stitches all over his face or somethin', and he looked at Maka and said she was a meister. She still had the weapon gene, but it was dormant. Or somethin'."

Blackstar huffed. "Stupid Maka. She's been looking for a partner for FOREVER, but she only trained with one type of weapon. She'll probably have to wait for the rest of her life."

I was about to ask what kind of weapon she'd trained with, but I was interrupted.

"Lucky for me, I found Tsubaki. She can turn into anything. I mean, whatever weapon she kills, she could turn into whatever they could turn into."

And all conversation about Maka Albarn was forgotten.

The three of us talked long into the night, about just about everything. Kilik was trained in boxing, but he was willing to learn anything else. Blackstar came from a long line of assassins. They got into all of the other teams they'd met.

"And this one girl, she was a demon mailbox. I mean, really. What use is-" Kilik was interrupted by a sound at the window. It was raining hard, so the sound was faint.

All of us were short, so Kilik had to sit on my shoulders to reach the latch.

"Aww, a kitty," he said, smiling at the small black bundle. It was odd to see him melt into the cutesy expression he now sported.

The cat was small, and had a black hat on her head. I rolled my eyes. I always thought it was so weird when people dressed up their pets.

We agreed to keep her until the morning, when we would put a sign up saying we'd found her.

The last sandwich was tuna. She helped herself to it, surprisingly.

When we went to sleep, it was nearly one. Not the latest I'd ever been up, but pretty close. Sometime in the night, the little black cat curled up on my chest and began snoring.

When we all woke up to go to school, she was gone.

I slept through class the next day. Something about the difference between Kishins and normal humans or something like that that didn't really matter.

I was still sleeping when Sid left the room for some unknown reason.

An argument broke out between Maka Albarn and Ox Ford, the supposed Lightning King.

"No, Ox, stupid. There's no such thing as love at first sight. It's a myth," she sighed, wanting to get back to the book she was reading.

"But it happens between weapons and meisters! Why not people and people?" He insisted, really getting on the pigtailed technician's nerves.

"That's a reaction of the soul. Love is a chemical reaction that occurs primarily in the pituitary gland, which is located at the center of the brain, almost directly behind the nose." She pointedly paid attention to her book.

"C'mon. It's not like that. It's an emotion, a feeling, it's-"

"Would you shut up? I'm trying to read! I don't care about you and your stupid mystery Valentine! You won't even say who she is, but you keep talking to me like I give a bag of raw fish!" Maka exclaimed, exasperated.

"You don't need to know! But she's so... so..." Ox officially looked ridiculous.

"Ha. She's probably nothing special, and you're afraid to admit she's a nobody." Maka stuck her nose in her book one last time, only to be interrupted by an Ox Ford explosion.

"WHY DON'T YOU SAY THAT TO MY FACE?!" He yelled, reaching for his weapon and suddenly holding a golden-colored lance with electricity crackling at the end.

"Oh, you want to duel?" She asked, reaching for her bookmark.

"C'mon! Arm yourself!" He cried.

Maka stood on the desk as he was, only to realize that she was hopelessly outgunned. "Is anyone here a scythe?" She called to the class, and everyone shook their heads. Everyone but the creepy albino dude in the back of the room who was still asleep.

There were a few offers to partner just for this fight. "No, no," she said. "I can only wield scythes. Can't even touch anything else."

"Ah, I'm a kusarigama," came a quiet voice. "It's almost the same thing."

"Well, let's see it, Tsubaki," Maka replied, and she was suddenly holding two handscythes connected by a chain. She assumed a fighting stance, but it was obvious she'd never wielded a kusarigama before.

"Here, I'll step in for you."

"No, Blackstar! It's my duel!"

"That's what you get for only training with scythes. And, you're holding my weapon."

Maka sighed. "I can't-"

"Remember that one time when we were little and I stole your Pokemon cards?" The blueberry asked.

"Yes, I remember," she said tersely.

"Well, I gave them back, remember? I was so nice. You should be nice now, and let me substitute."

"Fine." She stepped off of the desk and handed Tsubaki to her meister. "I'm sorry," she said to Ox. As an afterthought, she added an "I'm sorry" to Tsubaki as well.

Blackstar won. Obviously.

The ball. I'd found out that it wasn't a "wear a nice suit" occasion only after I'd arrived, but there was really no way for me to go home and change out of my black pinstripe getup. Kilik and Blackstar walked with me. They were in button down shirts and jeans. Blackstar was only there to make sure I didn't end up like Spirit. I suspected his reasoning was actually just the food.

"What are you looking for?" I asked a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy with a half-unbuttoned shirt and purple tie. He had a scary amount of piercings, but I was getting a little desperate.

"A sword," said the boy, Hiro.

I grumbled at this.

"How come no one wants a scythe?" I asked my companions rhetorically. They both stopped in their tracks.

"You're a scythe?" Kilik asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah," I said, creeped out that the second time I'd told anyone, they had reacted oddly.

"We'll be back," Blackstar said quickly, pulling Kilik along with him into the crowd of hundreds of students of every age and classification.

I didn't know that I wasn't the only one that thought the ball was formal.

I asked a few more people, and I got answers of everything from crossbows to brass knuckles. No scythemeisters, though. I eventually stumbled across an abandoned room with empty picture frames all over the walls. In the back corner was a beautiful grand piano. When I sat at the bench, I faced the door.

Now was my one opportunity to express myself through music. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to get into this room again.

So I played.

Just that morning, nine-year-old Maka Albarn had found out the full meaning of the word "unfaithful", and had now put together exactly why her mother was always so angry with her father. So when Spirit had sat her down before the gathering and told her he wanted her to find a female weapon only, she had every intention of doing just the opposite.

She waded through the crowd of people, losing hope. Tsubaki walked with her, asking as they went along if they had seen a scythe. Head after head shook side to side.

Sometime in the night, Maka began to hear music. The sound of a piano, playing a dark song.

"Do you hear that?" She asked the raven-haired shadow arm.

"Hear what?"

"The music."

Tsubaki looked at her, concerned. "No, no I don't."

So they continued their search.

There were forty-five minutes left in the party when Kilik and Blackstar ran up to them. The two meisters panted for a moment.

"Who are you?" Maka asked Kilik.

"Kilik. Meister." He looked at her. "Nice dress, " he said, eyeing her black getup, complete with high heels, unheard of for the slight scythe tech.

"Blackstar, what are you doing here? Unless you've spontaneously discovered you're a-"

"Our roommate," he said, and panted more. "Where were you? We were- oh, hey, Tsubaki."

"FOCUS!" Kilik yelled at him. He looked at Maka. "Our roommate's a..." He, too was tired from running around looking for her.

"He's a..." Blackstar tried to finish.

"A what?" She asked.

Blackstar made color guard-style twirling motions with his hands.

Maka stared slackjawed for a moment. "WHO?" She demanded.

"Soul Evans," Kilik told her.

"The albino piano player guy." Blackstar finished.

"The piano player?" She asked, hoping these boys were sane.

They nodded.

She gave them each a passionate kiss on the cheek before running off to find the source of the music that played in her head.

Most of the attendees had already left.

I kept playing. I had given up hope on finding a meister, and was a-ok with waiting another year. If it came down to it, I could claim to be autonomous. That could work. This one guy, Justin Law, wielded himself, and he was almost finished with the 99 soul quota. Not that I really cared. Music was all that mattered, wasn't it?

I didn't need anyone else. I could go on by myself.

No one could understand me anyways. I'd scared my own mother away with my creepy music.

Maybe it was growing up in Death City that made Maka Albarn not afraid of the dark tune that rang in her ears. Somehow, watching wars pass by around you did that.

So she ran. She tried to remember. Where was there a piano?

If I scared away anyone else, I'd probably go mad.

That's why I was so startled when I saw that someone was standing in the doorway when I finished my song.

She was slight, and was wearing a black formal gown, with black gloves and skull-themed hairbands tying up her usual pigtails.

She'd heard my music.

"This is who I am," I told her.

"That was beautiful," was all she said.

Click.

**Twenty-six pages. Holy crappola.**

**A lot of what happened here was based off of Soul Eater: N.O.T.!. Maka said she once wore the same uniform as Tsugumi Halberd, so I just described what she was wearing.**

** I may write a sequel, about life at the DWMA. It will have some of Maka's perspective, too. I want to put in how Soul changed his name. I'm thinking some "birds and the bees" talk from Sid and Nygus. Maybe a little help from Excalibur.**

** If you think I should write another chapter, say so in your review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: So I have one other SE story going, "Two Halves of a Fallen Angel," and this will run right up to the beginning of that. Neither really require the other, as they can be understood without, but it is strongly recommended that you read both. **

**Here you go, my pride and joy!**

**Oh, and you should know that this one deals with "the talk". You know the one. There are some pretty blatant period references, too, so beware.**

**If you are ten or eleven and you don't know what "the talk" is, please come back and read this when you do.**

* * *

_From the perspective of one Scythemeister Maka Albarn, age nine._

-NINE-

It had been one week.

One week since the ball. One week since I'd met the small, curious boy named Soul Evans.

There had been a small partnership ceremony. There always was. Just a quick vow to protect and honor the other and whatnot. It was rather like marriage. I didn't want to think about that.

Today we'd moved into a small, two-bedroom apartment not far from the Academy. Wes, Soul's nearly identical older brother, had swung by to assist in setting up furniture. A few of our... friends(hint: blue hair) had offered, but we'd somewhat politely refused.

Wes was, as far as I could tell, a pretty normal guy. Of course, he was nineteen, and human, and incredibly wealthy, but he didn't talk down to either of us, and introduced himself only as "Wes" to whichever stray neighbor came by to welcome us.

That had been this morning. The rest of the day had been just setting up the last of our belongings, and then staring lazily at the television, which was playing some sort of cooking show.

Now, thoughts of a strange overweight lady and oceans of butter floated around in my head as I tried to fall asleep in the twin bed that was still rather large for me. The sheets were a simple white, but I planned to change that quickly.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I woke abruptly to soft stirring from the other side of the wall.

I knew it was Soul. Loneliness radiated off of the poor boy in waves that could probably be felt by the most ignorant human, and the visit from his brother had done little if any help. There was a bit of panic that I sensed as well. Hmm.

He was a little difficult to decipher. He might touch your shoulder or arm when he was speaking to you, but would recoil almost violently if you touched him. He never did homework, or really anything that didn't involve sleep, but if you were really in need of help he never hesitated to assist. I didn't understand exactly why he was the way he was, but then again I had a lifetime to figure him out.

I padded down the hall and peeked in the door, just to see what the commotion was about.

"Maka?" He called quietly.

"Mmhmm?"I'd been found out, but there was no stopping it now.

"Hey, I was just..." He trailed off, and then I heard a soft snore.

Boys.

I saw the metal bindings shining in the light from the window. He was required to wear them. They kept him from transforming in his sleep. I'd had to wear them once upon a time, when I was very small and they still thought I would be a scythe like my father. They'd wrapped around my shoulders, unlike Soul's, which went around his wrists.

I think that was when it hit me.

This boy was my responsibility. He was my weapon, and legally he was now even my own personal property. But here, I saw a creature whose safety was my duty and mine alone. Yes, he was supposed to make sure that nothing happened to me, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Soul Evans now had no family, and his only ties to anyone on Earth at this point in time were to me.

It scared me, just a little.

But that was okay. I faced it. Soul and I were partners now, weren't we?

And feed my soul to the lowliest Kishin if anything ever happened to him on my watch.

* * *

It happened only a few times each week, but the nightmares soon became farther between. He seemed a bit more comfortable around the others and I, and shoved people off when they tried to touch him instead of jumping twelve feet in the air.

Two months after school had started, we had our only two friends over. Tsubaki cooked, even though it was our house, because she had the unique talent of preparing edible food. We were all grateful.

We'd all fallen asleep on our tiny, ragged couch at about one in the morning. Thank the powers that be that it was a Saturday. I was squished between Soul and Tsubaki, whose meister drooled on her other shoulder. I woke around three in the morning and looked at our little group.

Happiness was this.

I went back to sleep, glad that things were working out so well.

-TEN-

But things weren't so cozy for long. In another month, I turned ten.

One morning, Sid informed us that a special lecture would be given in two segments: boys on the coming Friday, and girls the following Monday.

I had no idea what this could possibly mean. Why would they break us up by gender? This was a combat school. Girls could fight just as well as boys, those sexist pigs.

When I said so, my father, standing in the corner of the room, had choked a little on himself. "It's not about fighting, sweetheart."

Eh?

The morning of the boys' assembly, I walked with Soul to the auditorium. Everyone had shown up. The teachers had refused to say anything about what was going on in the lectures, so I guess the other students' curiosity had beat out their will to skip. There was even an odd-looking kid in a black-and-white suit with three white stripes on the left side of his hair. He seemed to be looking for a weapon at the same time.

He approached us. "What type of weapon are you?" He asked Soul, who was still wearing his binders.

"Uh... a scythe," he told the odd boy, at the same time as I shoved him lightly.

"He's my weapon! Back off!" I stuck my tongue out. The boy's expression turned to disgust.

"You back off! Scythes are terribly asymmetrical anyways." He walked away.

"Ok," Soul began. "Thanks for getting the creepy guy off of us, but can we not pick a fight with someone taller than both of us combined? Please?"

"Yeah, fine. It was obvious I was your meister, though. He shouldn't have asked." I replied.

Soul went into the auditorium and I walked to class, where Nygus filled out paperwork and the rest of us talked, or in my case read.

My curiosity was practically strangling me as I sat in the front row, trying to figure out what the h-e-double toothpicks that stupid assembly was supposed to be about. When the bell finally rang, I bolted out of my seat and ran to the auditorium.

"Soul!" I called, searching for the scrawny boy. "SOUL!"

I finally found him sitting with Blackstar on a bench in the courtyard. Both were completely silent. Come to think of it, so were most of the boys.

"Oh, there you are," I told him. "Are you ready to go? It's my turn to cook." I said cook, but I really meant microwave ramen. I couldn't make anything else.

I smiled at Blackstar, too. The friendlier I was, the more likely it was that one of them would tell me what exactly had happened in that auditorium.

"Ah, you go on ahead," Soul said, eyes at my feet. "I'll be home later." He cleared his throat slightly, and looked down at his shoes.

It frustrated me, but I resolved to speak to him once he calmed down a bit. He seemed freaked by whatever had gone on in the assembly, and I didn't want to make it worse.

I'd be going to this same presentation in two days, and doggone it I was going to be prepared.

I got home and made a special effort- canned spaghetti sauce over pasta I only got right the third time. By the time he arrived, I had gone to the store and picked up rice pudding for dessert. I microwaved it and set it on the table.

"Thanks, Maka, but… I'm not hungry," he said, still looking at his shoes. He went straight to his room and didn't come out. I was too confused to ask. The presentation had had an odd effect on him, and I just waited to see what would happen.

I ate my portion of the food and refrigerated the rest, as it could easily be split for breakfast tomorrow. I sat in the bath for quite a while, trying to figure out just what it was that had immobilized just about every male in the N.O.T. class. It made no sense. The odd reaction made me a bit nervous for my own coming experience on Monday, but I would face it. My own mother was the greatest scythemeister of all time, goshdarnit, and I would prove my worth to the DMWA just as she did! No pansy presentation would faze me!

I desperately wanted to join the E.A.T. class. I remembered that when I was very young, my father had asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.

"A meister!" I'd cried, smiling up at him. "Just like Mama!"

"Well, sweetie, Mama is a meister. You and I," he said, "Are weapons."

"Really?" I furrowed my eyebrows.

"Yep. Scythes. You'll probably have Papa's job one day." He poked my nose, and I giggled. "You'll have to go to the big school at the top of the city, and train to be a weapon."

I stuck out my bottom lip, my spirits crushed. "But Papa…." I looked down at my shoes, and then back up at him. "I wanna be a meister."

"Sweetheart, look. Meisters are their own species. We aren't the same."

"How do you know?" I asked. "Why aren't I like Mama?"

He sat down cross-legged in the floor. I did too. He sat up straight. "Can you do this?" He asked, and a giant gray-black blade curved out of his shoulder. "Focus."

I scrunched my face up. I clenched my muscles and concentrated.

Nothing happened.

And nothing happened for a long, long time.

So I held on to hope that I would follow in my mother's footsteps, and I spun sticks and batons until the wee hours of the morning to prove my talent.

But I came to accept my fate as a scythe, and even agreed to partner with Blackstar once we were older. One day, though, when I was about five, a man in a white lab coat came and did some sort of test with my blood, and afterwards Papa took me to the kitchen table and told me that I was right, that I would be a meister like Mama.

I was happy, and so I continued practicing with the plastic replacements in the Shibusen gym. Soon, I was running with the older kids on physical assessment days. Afterwards, I studied in the vast library, determined to know everything. I was practically a student before I even turned seven.

There were a few others that were raised at the DWMA. Blackstar, obviously, and Ox and Kilik. Ox's father was a teacher for three years, but left his son at the school for the remaining year between his transfer to a university and his son's ninth birthday. Kilik lived in the city with his family, who were trying to find a cause for an odd disease his triplet brother and sister had. The two youngest members of the Rung family aged at a third the pace of an average human, but had gained weapon abilities abnormally early. The four of us practiced, studied, and sparred together for most of our lives.

So when I saw Kilik at the local grocer that Saturday morning after the boys' presentation, I hoped I had finally found an ally. He smiled and waved at me, unlike the others who had shrunk away, and I struck up friendly conversation. After a few minutes, I asked him what was really on my mind.

"Hey, have you talked to Soul and Blackstar lately?" I tried to nudge him gently to my topic of choice.

"Uh, no, actually. I thought Soul was your partner, why?" Kilik looked skeptical.

"He is, but he's been acting a bit… off lately. But, wouldn't you have seen them at the presentation yesterday?"

"Oh, no. I didn't go. They wouldn't let me, my tenth birthday is in three months and for some reason they don't think I'm old enough," he told me.

Well, there goes that.

I went home and dumped the groceries on the counter. A quick peek revealed Soul to still be asleep. That lazy bum. He rolled over and blinked at me, almost but not quite conscious.

I finished putting up the dishes and went to the bathroom. The floor was still wet from my shower that morning, though, and I slipped, banging the side of my head on the counter. Blood dripped all over the bathroom, and I get to my feet shakily.

"Maka! Are you okay…. Ohdeargod." Soul burst in and, seeing the blood everywhere, looked at me and then back to the red stains. "That is disgus-"

That was when he threw up.

He ran out of the room, and I heard the front door shut behind him.

I cleaned up my mess, and the vomit, and wiped it down. I needed some disinfectant, so I decided to ask Tsubaki.

I took the stairs to their floor and knocked, calling my friend's name. I heard shuffling. The door was opened, and I was immediately enveloped in a tight hug.

"Oh, Maka. What happened to your face?!" Tsubaki asked frantically, examining the spot next to my left eyebrow that I didn't think was all that bad.

"I slipped and hit my head on the bathroom counter. I need some bleach wipes, can I borrow some?"

"Oh, you let me do that later. We need to fix this." I was dragged to the kitchen, where the young kunoichi lifted me with surprisingly little effort onto the space next to the sink. I tried to get down, but she wouldn't let me.

She poured some foul-smelling liquid over the wound, and began stitching it. I winced, but said nothing. After a few minutes, I heard whispers.

"Do you think she's gone now?"

"I don't know, let's check."

Two figures appeared from around the corner- Soul and Blackstar. They stared at me in shock for a moment, and almost left when Soul stumbled and turned around. He looked at me and slowly approached, looking almost scared.

"What… what happened to your head, Maka?" He asked, eyes wide as he took in the various tools and chemicals Tsubaki had spread around the counter.

"I tripped in the bathroom this morning and hit my head. You know this, you saw and ran out," I snapped, causing Tsubaki to jerk on the string tied to my head. "Ow!"

"Oh, that's what that was…." He mumbled, looking at his feet as his whole head turned the approximate shade of a tomato.

"Of course that's what it was! Why else would there be blood all over the bathroom?!" I asked, exasperated at the apparent stupidity of my otherwise sensible weapon.

The two boys looked at each other, and then down at their feet, and then up and me, and back to the floor. I peered up at Tsubaki, hoping she could shed some light on the situation. She chuckled softly.

"What?" I demanded.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?" I asked, utterly baffled.

"You'll learn about it at the presentation Monday." She told me.

"I will? Oh. Wait, WHAT? How do you know?"

"I already learned what's in the lesson from my parents. I'm two years older that you all," Tsubaki explained. "but I can't tell you now, I think it would be better if you found out at school."

I wanted to press her for more information, but I could see in her face that there was no convincing her to tell me what was going on. I jumped off the counter, grabbed the bleach wipes she was letting me borrow, and headed for the door. After a few steps, I felt Soul fall in behind me.

"Sorry," he said quietly after we'd left.

"It's ok… I guess…." I said, still not completely sure what the heck was going on.

-MONDAY-

Soul walked with me to the presentation, utterly silent. He hadn't spoken much even after the bloody bathroom fiasco, and I still had no idea what would happen to me during these next hours.

I hoped I wouldn't be brainwashed.

That would suck.

I entered the auditorium, where all of the chairs had been cleared out. Blankets were on the floor with pillows around a screen. A friendly-looking blonde woman with an eye patch smiled at each of us in turn as we walked in, and I felt myself calm. Everything would be ok, right?

Mama was standing in the corner, talking quietly to Nygus, pointing at a girl occasionally. I looked around, trying to see if anyone was missing. Nope, every girl I could think of in the first-year N.O.T. class was here, even Tsubaki who said she already knew all of this.

The room darkened, and a projector was turned toward the nearest wall. The kind-looking blonde woman came to stand behind her, but Mama shook her head. "Don't fog their minds, Marie. Let them take it in."

So this WAS a brainwashing!

I stood up fast, but sat back down. I'd be fine. Mama was resistant to stuff like that, so shouldn't I be? But Mama was in on this… oh no. I almost ran out again but the video started and my curiosity won out.

A bunch of kids appeared on screen and started singing an irritating little riff while bobbing their heads back and forth and smiling. _"Just around the corner, just around the corner. You're just around the corner, just around the corner. It's just around the corner, just around the corner."_

What the heck?

I wondered if the melody was supposed to be hypnotizing me, and assumed that I was immune. Then I noticed that the other girls were looking at each other with confused expressions.

I looked back at the screen, where "Just Around the Corner: Girls Edition" was written in pink letters.

The annoying music stopped, and a lady with a plastered-on smile walked in front of the obvious green screen, which put her in front of a bunch of cartoon flowers.

"Good morning girls! It's nice to see all of you!" She waved, but she looked rather retarded as she could not actually be talking to us, staring at a point in the back of the room. "Today I'm here to tell you all about some changes that will be taking place inside of you. Those changes are-"

The chorus cut in again. _"Just around the corner, just around the corner…"_

What a giant waste of time. The other girls thought so, too, by the looks on their faces. Tsubaki peered at her sneakers.

"And what kind of changes are just around the corner? Well, I'll tell you. Do you know what this is?" She said, pointing to a diagram onscreen.

I almost fainted. It was, as far as I could tell, a diagram of the bladder, colon, and something else I didn't know.

"This is a uterus," the woman explained. "It connects to your…."

She kept talking. About halfway through, I noticed I was clinging to poor Tsubaki, whose arm was a deep purple from the pressure I was putting on it.

When it was finally over, I walked out silently, dazed. Information swirled around my head, and I hugged my arms to my chest. I almost bumped into Soul, who was standing with some of the other boys who were waiting for their partners. In a flash, everything I'd learned about boys and what they…. _did_ came rushing back, and I felt the color drain from my face.

"Um, you go on home. I… left my notebook," I squeaked.

"Actually, Mr. Sid said I needed to talk to him after the presentation, so I'm going there. I'll see you home later," he told me.

"All right." Frankly, I was relieved. I didn't really want to be around anyone, particularly anyone male, at the moment. The whole presentation had shed new light on exactly what my father had been doing with those other women that made my mother so angry, and horrifying mental images flew through my head.

At least I didn't have to worry about that with Soul. We weren't romantically involved, so there was no risk of getting hurt by his frolicking with girls that weren't me.

I sighed and looked around the abandoned auditorium. I hadn't actually left my notebook behind.

"Suck it up and go home," I told myself, and sighed again. I'd just confine myself to my room until tomorrow, and I wouldn't have to talk to Soul at all. Class would present an excellent opportunity for non-interaction.

I pushed open the door, and I found myself face-to-face with Mr. Sid.

"Run! Out of the Academy!" He said frantically, ushering me towards a group of students down the hall. "There's a Kishin in the dungeon!"

I sprinted to the others, who were fumbling with the door. By the time they got it open, I had already realized that Soul was not among them.

Of course. He'd gone to homeroom to talk to Mr. Sid.

I turned and ran down the hallway like mad, avoiding large hallways where panicking kids were likely to get in my way.

I passed the kitchens, where I stole a long carving knife. I didn't want to risk being caught by the monster before I found my weapon.

I almost ran past the dance room, which did not have any lights on. But I turned when I heard a crash and a small whimper, and noticed that the door was ajar.

The beast was huge and had tattered clothes. I had no idea how it got in here unnoticed, but anything was possible. Its long black hair hung down past its shoulders, and its arms were tattooed heavily.

And clinging to the wall behind him was a small albino boy with what looked like abnormally long fingernails.

I sprinted across the dance room and jumped up on the creature's back, hooking the knife around its throat. As I was about to draw it through his jugular vein, the monster grabbed my arm and wrenched the knife from my fingers.

I looked at Soul, who was still half-transformed, and made frantic hand motions. He nodded, and one hand shortened to normal length. I kicked my feet off of the monster's tattered shirt and flipped over my hands to land on the ground before him, scythe already in hand. I spun once, flipping the blade around to slice through the torso of the beast.

Loud footsteps echoed through the dance studio as Sid stormed in, dagger drawn.

"Meister Maka! I thought I told you to-" He was cut off as Nygus said something neither of us could hear.

I think that was when he noticed the swirling ball of black ribbons behind me. It solidified and began to glow a bright red. Soul fell out of my hands and stood behind me.

"Well, son? Are you going to do something with that?" Sid asked Soul.

Soul looked uncomfortably at the Kishin egg. He walked over, took it in his hand, and stared at it for about three seconds.

And then he ate it.

"Atta boy." Sid looked at me. "Follow us. Bring your weapon."

* * *

The path was long and bright. Crimson arches with blades on them popped up every six-ish feet, and the sky was a clear blue with swirly clouds.

"The guillotine walkway," I whispered to Soul. "If you're secretly a witch, tell us now."

"Um, no, I'm a guy, and I'm not a warlock either," he replied. "But... why?"

"'Cause the blades will fall on you and you'll be a bloody mess in the middle of the floor," I told him.

"Oh. Pleasant." We walked single-file to the end of the path, fidgeting nervously. Why were they making us come to the Death Room?

"Maybe they'll kill us," Soul whispered. "Maybe that's what they do to bad kids. No wonder the food tastes so weird in the cafeteria, it's made out of little meisters, and the iron supplements come from their weapons."

"Oh, shut up," I said. "Lord Death would never do that... I think..." I said, giggling.

"Yeah, maybe _he'll _eat us," Soul replied, suppressing a grin.

"I'll do what?" came a voice from directly in front of us, making us jump.

"Oh, hello, sir," I said quickly, bowing awkwardly at the... thing before us.

I remembered that I had seen the Grim Reaper before, but only walking through the hallways and such. Sometime I must've been in this room with him here, but I just didn't remember. I had come with Papa a few times several years ago.

"Heya! So, I saw you two defeat that hideous creature." He shook his head a little at the word "hideous." He gestured at the mirror behind him, where a clear view of the fight played. It was really only a few seconds, and was seen through the dance room mirror. I watched as I ran from the door and leaped on the creature's shoulders, and suddenly it was a ball of light and everything was over.

"Now, you know that you are not supposed to be hunting those things, Meister Maka." His eye holes narrowed at me.

"Yes, sir. I was-"

"I know what you were doing. Your weapon was in danger and you eliminated the threat."

"Yes, that's-"

"Let me finish. There is a reason for every rule we have, including the one about untrained students allowing those in charge to deal with threats." The Reaper's face was stern.

"But sir, I spent the last eight years of my life doing nothing but combat training," I argued. Gosh darn it.

"I know, I know. So here's what we're going to do. Right now you come to class at eight, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I want you to be here at seven."

"Detention?" I sighed. Well, it could be worse.

"Of sorts. You will report to the Crescent Moon lecture hall at seven each morning."

Ugh. "That's the E.A.T. Classroom, right? Why are we going there?" Soul asked, finally speaking up.

"Because I said to, that's why."

The current situation sucked, but I guessed there was nothing to be done. "How long, sir?"

"What?"

"How long will we be coming to the Crescent Moon hall at seven every morning?" Soul huffed, exasperated.

The Reaper put one large finger to his forehead in a "thinking" pose.

"How about... until the two of you kill ninety-eight more Kishins. And a witch."

* * *

I skipped down the hall, laughing. I'd restrained myself for a good three minutes, but Sid and Nygus were gone now.

"Why are you so happy?" Soul asked. "We have to wake up at, like, _five _just to go to school."

"I've always wanted to be in the E.A.T. class. Besides, now we get to do pretty much whatever we want. Legally. Name changing, driving..." I looked at him, confused as to why he wasn't as happy as I was.

"Wait, so does this mean we're not in the N.O.T. class anymore?" He asked.

"Well, yeah."

"So, that means I'm clear? Safe for society?" Now Soul looked worried, and I didn't know why.

"Yeah." I thought this was a good thing, but he was silent after that.

* * *

Mama was away on a mission in Europe.

So when I got home, the first thing I did was change out of my N.O.T. Class uniform. Then I called my mother.

Or rather, I was going to. I picked up the phone in my room and was about to dial when I realized Soul was using the other line.

"_Hey, Wes." _I heard him say.

"_Oh, hey, buddy. What's up?"_

"_Um, am I interrupting something?"_

"_No, no, just one of our 'family discussions'. I don't think they'll mind if I talk to you."_

There was silence for a moment on Soul's end.

"_Hey, um, Wes?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Today I was declared legally competent."_

I was about to stop listening, but I didn't when I heard Wes's response.

"_That's great, kid. When are you coming home?"_

"_Well, that's the thing. I... might not."_

"_What do you mean?"_

Soul cleared his throat. _"Well, you know how there's two classes at the DWMA?"_

"_The E.A.T. class for combat and N.O.T. class for normal people who are trying to be declared competent. Yeah, I know."_

"_They want me to be part of the E.A.T. class, Wes."_

There was a pause.

"_Ha-ha, that's great. My little bro's great at everything, huh?"_

"_..."._

"_But, Soul, don't worry about it. I'm sure if Mom calls she can get them to let you come home."_

"_No, no, Wes. That's not what I mean."_

"_Soul..."_

"_Me and Maka killed a Kishin today. And I... ate its soul. It was weird and I know this is creepy but just listen, K?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I think I kind of... liked it."_

It took me a moment to remember that Soul's family was all-human, and weapons and their tendencies were not too familiar. But Wes took his role as older brother seriously.

"_Well, buddy, you've got a choice to make." _He didn't sound like he was really trying to push Soul in either direction. He understood who this was about.

Not everyone felt that way, however. A voice was faint from the other end.

"_Wes? Who are you talking to?"_

"_Oh, it's Soul. He says-"_

The phone was taken.

"_Soul? Honey, are you there?"_

"_Mother?"_

"_Soul! It's been so long! Why haven't you called? I told you you had to call at least every week, and instead you just ignore me. Treating your own mother like that, it breaks my heart."_

Silence on Soul's end.

"_So, what is it? Why did you call?"_

"_Just wanted to talk to Wes about something."_

"_What is it? You can tell me."_

"_Well, today-"_

"_Have you heard anything about when you can come home?"_

"_Actually, today I was invited to the combat class. I'm not considered dangerous anymore, apparently."_

"_Oh, that's wonderful, sweetheart. I'll call right away and tell them we're picking you up this weekend."_

"_Mother, why don't we wait a little bit? I mean, what if I like the E.A.T. class?"_

"_Oh, don't be silly. Besides, there's a music festival next week and it would be wonderful if we could do a short performance as a family. You know, it's not a family show without you!"_

All of a sudden, Narcissa Evans was acting a whole lot nicer towards her son.

"_You want me to come home so I can play in a show?"_

There was another long pause.

"_Honey, you know I want you back here with me. Now, I don't think that you would like that combat group at all. You're a pianist, Soul, and the piano is your future."_

There was a voice in the background that I couldn't quite place. I turned the volume way up so I could hear.

"_Who's she talking to?"_

"_My little brother, Soul," _Wes told the woman. _"You know..."_

"_The one they did the tests on? To see if he was actually your dad's son?"_

"_Yeah."_

So it was like that.

"_You might want to know that Wes is getting married." _Mrs. Evans' voice was so loud since I turned up the phone that I gasped.

"_Soul? What was that noise?"_

"_Uh... I dunno."_

"_Well, anyways. Emily is a singer, and she'll be your sister-in-law soon."_

"_Oh, um, cool." _Soul sounded downtrodden.

The phone changed hands again.

"_Boy!" _An old woman this time.

"_Granny?"_

"_You decide to leave this family now? I can't believe this. Kids these days are so selfish sometimes."_

"_Granny, you're saying that my defending the people of this world is selfish?"_

Apparently, the conversation had been put on speaker phone by now because Soul's mother spoke up.

"_You will not speak that way to your grandmother!"_

"_I was merely asking a question, Mother."_

"_You were being acting smart and you know it! That's it, were picking you tomorrow!" _Mrs. Evans screeched.

But Soul spoke calmly and deliberately.

"_You can't do that."_

"_I can and I will. Start packing." _

"_No, Mother, you can't. Law says so."_

"_WHAT?!"_

Soul took a shaky breath. He sounded like he was excited and terrified at once.

I didn't think he was going to have to pull this card.

"_Legally, you have no control over me."_

There were a few seconds of silence.

"_What are you saying, you little brat? Of course I can take you home whenever you please, I'm your mother."_

"_Actually, that doesn't mean anything any more. I belong to Maka."_

"_Excuse me? Who is Maka?"_

I heard Soul laugh a little.

"_Mother, she is my meister. And when we partnered, several MONTHS ago, I officially became her personal property. So if you want me to come home, you'll have to take it up with her."_

"_Fine then. Put her on the line."_

"_No."_

"_No?"_

"_I won't let you. Because I want to stay here, Mother. I don't want to play at your stupid little shows any more. I don't want to wear suits and ties and smile at cameras. So no, I'm not putting Maka on the line."_

I heard Mrs. Evans' voice waver, the first time in this whole conversation I'd heard a sign that the boy she was talking to was her _son, _not some house plant.

"_Soul, no one in the Evans family has ever been a Shibusen weapon before."_

"_Then I guess I'm no longer part of the Evans family."_

Click.

I heard the phone being hung up, and so I quickly hung up my end too.

Footsteps came down the hallway, and suddenly my door opened. I tried to look like I had been doing something productive.

"Hey," Soul greeted. "Let's go." He motioned me out of the room.

"Where are we going?"

"I think we have to register to be officially part of the E.A.T. class, and there's something I want to do when we get there."

* * *

We were walking down the street towards the school. I'd changed out of my N.O.T. class uniform as soon as we'd gotten home, into a short red skirt. I was glad to no have to wear the leggings anymore, but the wind was forcing me to hold down the skirt constantly.

"Soul, you didn't happen to bring a jacket, did you?" I begged.

"No, sorry, why? It's not cold."

"I would've tied it around my waist. This is getting ridiculous." I tried tugging down the waistline, but I just untucked my undershirt.

This wasn't going to work. Girls could wear skirts, dress pants, or jeans, and I only liked cargo or sweat pants. Skirts and dresses were the only option.

I sighed. "I need something like that," I said, pointing to a shop window, where a black greatcoat was on display. It could totally weigh down my skirt.

"A trenchcoat? For flashing people?" Soul snorted.

I giggled despite myself, but whacked him upside the head anyway.

"Detour," I told him, and dragged him inside the store.

* * *

They were on sale.

Apparently, women didn't like looking like they were about to flash people. So the shop wanted rid of them.

Papa was tall, but Mama wasn't, and it was unlikely I'd ever grow to be more than 5'3". So I took out every single one of the remaining coats they had that were medium or smaller. I needed a lifetime supply.

There were seventeen of them.

"Sheesh, do you really need that many?" Soul asked, trying to find me under the giant pile of black fabric I was carrying.

"We're witch hunters now, Soul, they'll probably get torn up fairly quickly," I told him, voice muffled.

"Is this about that guy in the long jacket you were watching on TV? The red coat, and he kept clapping his hands?" Soul accused.

"No, no. I'm not trying to resemble some fictional character," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Good. That anime stuff will rot your brain, you know."

I shook my head. Some people just didn't know what was good for them.

The lone shop worker ran up to me and took my load, obviously not realizing I was perfectly capable of carrying it on my own.

I pulled out a credit card from my bag and handed it to the worker. She looked at me a moment, unsure if selling a bunch of high-quality clothing to a ten-year-old was all right.

Then she saw the card.

"Just a moment," she said. "You're not Spirit Albarn."

"Nope, he's my dad." I smiled at her sweetly. "He and Mama told me to buy whatever I needed for school with that, and I need clothes. So."

I smiled more forcefully.

The woman looked shocked. "What is your name?"

"Maka. Maka Albarn."

"Where is your mother?"

"Um. Probably at home with Papa?" I said, not thinking at all about stranger danger. Like a genius.

"So... Spirit Albarn has a wife?" The shop lady asked.

Oh.

"You're one of those, huh?" I questioned, and she got my meaning from my expression.

"Maka, honey, you realize that this pile will cost your father a lot of money?" She looked concerned. A little.

"Oh yeah. That is A-O-good." She understood that we both felt about the same right now.

"Come to think of it, I don't think these are on sale after all." She showed me the new total.

"Oh, no. Look how much money these jackets cost. Oh well." I deadpanned.

The lady grinned at me.

I saw Soul inspecting a piece of clothing in the corner. I flagged him down.

"I think... I think I can alter this," he said, showing me what was apparently two different jackets, one plain yellow and one black, both frayed. "I can take the sleeves from the yellow and the torso from the black and then sew in some cool designs to cover up the damage."

So the kid grows up in a family where image is everything, and suddenly we have a tailor.

I dumped both onto the pile, peeling off the clearance sticker.

I smiled at the nice lady as she gave me back Papa's card.

As we were leaving, Soul looked at me quizzically. "What was that all about?"

"I'll tell you later."

* * *

We ran back home and dumped our loads in the living room, only to run back out again so that we could make it to the DWMA before closing.

"We need two E.A.T. class registration forms, please," I told the old lady that worked behind the desk. This was also where we would be getting mission assignments from now on. I had to restrain myself from jumping up and down.

"Um, this is the form we use for name changing, right?" Soul asked the woman, holding up a piece of paper.

"Yes, Mr. Evans. Or, rather... Oh well, I'll see the form in a minute." She winked at him.

We headed over to the tables that had been set up to fill out the paperwork.

"So. Name change?" I asked. Students were allowed to change their name once they entered the school, changed classes, or graduated.

"Yeah. Um. My family is kindof... well..." Soul began. He looked down. "They're not exactly 'cool' with weapons. So, I'm leaving the family."

And that was it.

Awkward. "So... what's your name now, then?" I asked, a little excited. None of my friends had ever changed their name before.

"Um..." Soul sputtered, drawing a blank. He scratched the back of this head. "I dunno. Soul is fine, Evans... isn't."

"Do you want to keep your initials?" I asked, trying to inspire... something.

"Don't really care. I want a name that is cool, and means something, but I dunno what to do, exactly."

"Means something... like what?"

"Uh. Could have to do with my weapon-ness?" Soul said, raising his eyebrows. We weren't getting anywhere. "Is there a name that's famous, scythe-wise?"

"Other than Albarn? No. And I don't think you want my last name."

"Not really. No offense, but then I'd have one more thing in common with your creepy dad."

"None taken." We stared off into the sky for a minute, trying to come up with anything.

That's when Kim showed up.

"What are you doing?" She asked us with a scowl, long pink hair blowing.

"Trying to come up with a new name for Soul," I told her.

She peered at the paper. "What do you have so far?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Keeping first name, changing last. And he says he wants it to be cool," I relayed.

She looked at Soul blankly. "Your name is Soul Evans, you want to change your name, and you can't come up with anything?"

We shook our heads.

"All right. I'll give you a name," she said. "But you've gotta pay me thirty bucks."

Soul hesitated a moment. "Fine."

She took the pen and scribbled something on the page before handing it back to him. He burst out laughing and reached for his wallet. He stuffed a wad of bills into her hands. She looked a bit taken aback that someone actually paid her that easily for once.

"Wait, let me see," I protested, feeling left out.

Soul handed me the paper and upon reading the name written there I began giggling hysterically.

"That's great," I said. "Soul Eater."

* * *

**I tried to replicate my lessons at school as much as possible. Yes, I did see the video described, but I also saw a different one, called "Dr. D's Birds and Bees". That one was the shockingly explicit counterpart of the one described here, and literally made my classmates scream. That was the inspiration for this video.**

**And yes, I'm pretty sure Soul can sew. It would make sense, he had to have made his headband, and I could've sworn I've seen something saying that was the case.**

**I'm so glad to be done with this chapter. It took me forever, but I can finally get on to the next one. We're going back to Soul's perspective, thankfully. I love love love writing for Soul. He's by far my favorite person to poke around in the head of.**


End file.
